Build You Up
by ceruleanblues
Summary: AU. His eyes—green and piercing—reveal more than I need to know, because after that, he's invading on my personal space, bridging the distance to capture my lips in his.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **New story up! Okay, so this is another 4-parter, because I really needed a break from WIME. So, while I sit on it to incubate, I've decided to drop another random fanfic. It's not my best, I'm on the fence about this one, but I hope you like it!

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Build You Up**

**Part 1**

**It's amazing, so amazing how  
****I've survived this road**

I've never really known him—never really had the chance to find out who he is, what's his story—but like everything else in this school, you only get as much as what everyone tells you. Nobody really believes the hushed gossip, of course—considering there's just so many—but he's always been a mystery—the quiet guy who keeps to himself, appearing and disappearing as and when he feels appropriate—and most of the time, people don't usually care.

I know I don't—not technically.

That is, until Mr. Schuester decides to pair everybody up for a mid-semester lab project.

"Alright, on the board is a list," he announces to the class. "Find your partners and get cracking."

Rachel Berry—a.k.a. Miss Eager Beaver—as usual, is the first to bolt out of her seat and scramble to the front. Squealing in glee, she spins around with what can only be described as a toothpaste-commercial grin, and skips back down the aisle.

"Who'd you get?" I ask anxiously, half-hoping that maybe this time round I'd be lucky enough to work with my best friend.

"Puck!"

It's like a gag reflex, and I really don't mean it, but my nose instantly scrunches up in slight disgust. Noah Puckerman is the resident Casanova—that necessary bad boy stereotype—who's been shamelessly flirting with every breathing female within a mile radius ever since he discovered puberty did wonders to his manhood—literally—and his ego. I open my mouth to offer a comment when Santana Lopez slides into the conversation with a snort of disdain and does it for me.

"Did I just hear you say that you'll be working with the Fuckerman?"

Rachel crosses her arms defensively over her chest. "Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"You're seriously going to rely on that ass of a douche with your grades?" she smirks, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Do I have to remind you of that one fucking time he fed weed to Lord Tubbington?"

"It was an accident," the petite brunette insists, hands wildly flailing in the air. "Besides, he actually apologized to Brittany about that, didn't he, and—"

Here we go again.

I love these girls to death, and most of the time, their back and forth bantering are rather entertaining, but after a while, you sort of know when the argument is a train wreck waiting to happen, and my role—the ever-present mediator—gets the honor of diffusing the situation before that actually happens.

"Well then, I guess I'm going to go check who I'll be partnering for this assignment—"

"No need for that," Rachel stops me. "I already did it for you. You're with Sam Evans."

I cock my head to the side, wondering if I'd heard her wrong. "What? Really?"

The only response I get is a positive nod of her head.

"No way," Santana yelps, and even before the words escape her mouth, I'm making my way to the board.

I see it—his name—typed out in the column aligned next to mine.

Where Puck is on the social chain doesn't even compare to the magnitude of what Sam Evans is capable of. The rumor mill spins just for his existence alone. Ever since his dad was convicted for conspiring in murder and gang activity, everything about him is classified as dangerous. It's just safer to stay away.

He sits at the far back corner of the room in his own parallel universe, his shaggy blonde hair falling over his forehead as he hunches forward to scrutinize the words in the textbook like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. A million horrifying scenarios flash before me—re-enactments of tales that have been flying around—and I'm trying to ignore the God-awful feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.

And then his eyes—green and piercing—snap up, instantly locking with mine. It spears through me, snatching the breath right from under my feet, as though he's deciphering the inner depths of my soul. An involuntary shiver runs down the length of my spine at such intensity, and I'm once again reminded of why people tend to fear him.

Forcing myself to tear my gaze away, I turn instead to face my chemistry teacher. "I'm sorry, Mr. Schue?"

"Yes, Quinn?"

"Is there any chance that perhaps I can have another partner instead?"

His thick brows spring up at my unsuspecting request. "Well, what's the problem with Sam?"

"Erm…" Where do I even begin? "Well, you see, I've been thinking of applying to Yale, and this assignment, being a big percentage of my score, I can't afford to screw this up, and—"

He gives me an apathetic grimace. "I'm sure you won't then."

"But you don't understand—"

"Look, Quinn, the list is finalized. Unless you can find somebody who'd be willing to trade partners with you, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it."

With that, he picks his stuff up from the table and waltzes out of the classroom, leaving me to my defenses. Defeated and out of options, I steal a moment to calm myself. This isn't how it's supposed to be, but I figure the best I can do right now is to bite the bullet and accept whatever it is that Sam Evans has to offer me. Regardless of what Mr. Schue probably thinks, I really do have dreams that I wish to accomplish, and if it means that I'll have to brave through the fury of a hurricane, then so be it.

But just as I turn once more to brace myself for impact, I realize that he's gone.

* * *

Finn isn't all that thrilled about it, either, and I can't blame him. As a boyfriend, it's an ingrained job to be overprotective—and I mean that in the best way possible—but when I break the news to him during lunch, it looks as if I've just unleashed the beast.

"That son of a bitch," he growls, his fists clenched tightly by his sides, and I almost believe that he might actually cause some serious harm to anybody unfortunate enough to get in his bad books. "If he so much as lays a finger on you—"

"Finn, relax," I say, praying that I don't sound as uncertain as I feel. I'm already concerned enough for the both of us. The last thing I need is for Finn to get all crazy. "I'll be fine, really. It's just a project, and we'll probably have to meet up after school—"

"I'm not leaving you alone with that freak," he exclaims, loud enough to draw some unnecessary attention. "Are you sure there's absolutely no other way to this?"

Not wanting to stir up any more drama, I grab his wrist and tug him over to a quiet corner away from prying eyes and ears. Any sign of distress can send off warning sirens that will undoubtedly cause an even bigger mess.

"Look, Finn, I'm sure it's not going to be that bad—"

"What? Quinn, do you even hear yourself?" he bursts out in frustration. "Sam Evans is blood related to a felon, and for all we know, he's probably one too. Just last weekend, Puck mentioned something about that kid hanging out with a bunch of mobsters or whatever. I'm telling you, he's dangerous, and I'm all but worried about your safety."

Underneath all the hysteria, Finn Hudson is actually rather sweet, and I'm sure his heart is in the right place, but he really isn't helping the situation. "Those are just rumors, Finn. You believe all that crap?"

"Quinn, you haven't seen what he—"

"So do you. I mean, have you actually seen him get arrested? Has he threatened you before? Have you seen him hold a gun to someone's head, or beat the shit out of someone, or all that nasty stuff people keep accusing him of? Why don't we give him the benefit of the doubt?"

Frankly, I don't even know whom I'm trying to convince here, but I just needed to hear it out loud. For a couple of seconds, Finn doesn't say anything, and then he slowly shakes his head.

"Trust me, Quinn. He's not who you think he is."

* * *

Against my better judgment, I wait by his locker after school. Sam and I don't have last period together, but I did catch a glimpse of him in the hallway right before English Literature so I'm certain that he's still around.

"What are you doing here?"

I jump, startled at the deep timbre in his voice—so foreign to my ears—and whirl around to find him regarding me with a casual tilt of his head, a certain curiosity in his otherwise guarded features. Now that he's up close, I notice how his eyes are so much more striking than what I'd thought, and that he has a faint scar cutting across just below his partially oversized lips.

The speech that I'd diligently been replaying over and over in my head shoots straight out of the window, and I realize I'm probably looking like a fool, standing there gaping like a fish out of the water.

"Fabray?"

He knows my name.

He knows who I am.

Yet, it feels as though I've just swallowed a bucket of sand.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I manage to grate out. "I—erm—I just, you know, think we should—erm—talk about the chemistry project. Soon. Any time you're free—I'm good."

His face remains impassive. "Sure."

"Great, great." I crack a stiff smile. "Tomorrow after school?"

He nods his head once, and then sort of shifts awkwardly, and all of a sudden I realize that people are watching us, probably trying to ensure that I get out of this alive. Not used to being the object of scrutiny, I self-consciously smooth out the imaginary wrinkles on my skirt.

"Quinn!"

I heave a small sigh of relief when Finn comes sauntering towards me in his prized letterman jacket and wraps his arms around my waist. Instinctively, I lean into his broad frame, glad to hide out in his shelter.

"Hey, Evans."

"Hudson."

The exchange is curt—insignificant, even—and before I know it, he's gone again.

* * *

"I heard that he was involved in some sort of brawl at a bar," Rachel randomly blurts out from her spot on my bed as she tries to apply some cherry red nail polish to her toes. "Probably a staring incident."

"You're fucking with me, right?" Santana deadpans, looking up from her sketches to one of her most recent creations. "A brawl?"

"I'm positive. He smashed a bottle through some goon's head and all that. The cops were involved; it was pretty dramatic."

I have to resist rolling my eyes because the more I hear about it, the more ridiculous it sounds. Just earlier on, I've been warned numerous times—on separate occasions—by people I hardly know, to abandon ship. They tell me that it's not worth it. "Where did you even hear all this from?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Rachel mutters, "people in school."

"And you believe them?"

"He's got a scar and all to prove it."

The one below his lips.

Oh, God. Could it be true?

"Quinn, as much as I hate agreeing with the Hobbit right here—"

"Hey!"

"—I've heard something similar too," Santana informs me, her expressions dead serious. It's a stark contrast to her carefree, sassy personality—one that I don't get to see often—and in all honesty, I'm grateful that they're trying to look out for me, but I'm already peeing in my pants as it is without them fanning the flames. "Look, I have an idea. Why don't we just pay Puck a sum to trade partners with you? I'm sure he'll do anything for some dough. I know for a fact that his cigarette stash is running low and his mom is refusing to increase his allowance."

"Do you think he'll agree to it?"

"A hundred percent."

* * *

"No way. Nuh-uh. Not for a million bucks."

"What? Why not?"

He stares at me like I've just grown two heads. "I think you know why not."

"Oh, come on, Puck."

"Quinn, I'm going to be brutally honest with you here, okay," he says with a hint of regret in his tone. "You can drop a grenade in my pocket and I still wouldn't trade partners with you. No offense to you, of course, you're Finn's girl, and he's my pal and all, but it's Sam Fucking Evans."

"What if Rachel agrees to sleep with you?" She'll kill me if she finds out, there's no doubt about it, but she should also understand my desperation.

His laughter is hollow, the humor completely lost. "Tempting, really, and I don't mean no disrespect to my lab partner, but it's just not worth it."

* * *

I've been waiting a good half an hour and he's still a no show. I'm starting to get this nagging feeling that he totally bailed on me. Lifting my arm up, I check on my wristwatch for the umpteenth time since I've arrived at his locker, my patience already stretched thin.

Sam might not appreciate it, but I've taken great pains in avoiding another thorny episode from occurring—more for my benefit than his, really—so right when the last bell had rung, I had lingered in the hallway, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while the students thin out. Finn insists that I meet my lab partner out on the bleachers where he's within distance in case something happens, but there's no way in hell I'm sitting under the scorching sun, sweating uncomfortably as I try to work on a project.

Forty minutes now, but who's counting, right?

I'm going to be kind enough and grant him another five minutes.

And another.

And another.

* * *

"What a fucking ass-hole," Santana spits out venomously from the other end of the line. A string of colorful, rich expletives promptly follows suit as I listen on, resting my head on the pillow and staring blankly up at the ceiling. "And he didn't even bother to text or call you?"

"Well, in his defense, he probably doesn't have my number," I rationalize logically because I'm way past being pissed off. Besides, I really hate staying mad, fuming and seething for hours to end. It's exhausting to say the least, which is probably also why Finn and I are together for as long as we are. He does something bone-headed and I'll be mad for a bit, but he knows I won't pitch a fit.

"He could've at least left you a note or something."

"Yeah, whatever. Nothing I can do about it now—"

I hear the doorbell ring. Since my parents are out to some fancy dinner party, I'm left to my own devices for dinner options, so I do what any normal teenager would do. I ordered pizza.

"I'll call you back, San. My food just arrived."

"Later, Quinnie."

Tossing the cordless phone aside, I hop off my bed and pad down the stairs. I grab some cash along the way and think nothing of it as I open the door.

And then I see him.

Even though he is clad in that ugly red-and-yellow uniform with his signature blonde hair tucked underneath a cap, fringe boyishly peeking out, there's no mistaking those intriguing Kelly eyes, that full lips and that telltale scar. I can't help thinking that he almost looks like any normal eighteen-year-old guy.

"Sam," I gasp out.

"Fabray?" He takes a step back to check on the number by the side of the house. "You live here?"

"Erm…yeah," I reply, feeling that same nervousness that comes whenever I'm in close proximity to him. A chill breeze brushes against my bare skin, and all of a sudden I'm aware that I'm standing before him dressed in a flimsy tank top and shorts. "Is that my pizza?"

"Pepperoni and mushrooms?"

I nod my head, not exactly trusting myself to talk because the anger from the afternoon—one that I've been containing all evening—starts to resurface with a burning passion.

"That's kind of disgusting," he comments as he hands the box over.

Quirking an eyebrow, I slap him the exact change. "What is?"

"Mushrooms," he shrugs.

Of course, I can't leave it at that.

"You stood me up."

He seems confused at first, and somehow or another, the irritation I had for him earlier gets mysteriously swept under the rug, along with the many snarky remarks I've saved up to throw at him. Is it possible to be afraid of being angry?

"Oh, that. Something came up."

Wow, not even an apology.

And then he just turns around and makes his way to the company's motorcycle, but I realize I need an answer.

"Tomorrow, then?" I call out, the pizza still in my hands.

"Sure."

That's what he said the last time.

He tucks the cap into the back pocket of his slacks and puts his helmet on. Somewhere from inside the house, I hear the chime of my cellphone, and I realize that I should probably give Sam my number. Finn isn't going to like it, I'm sure, but I'll be damned if I fail this chemistry project.

"Sam, wait!"

His foot freezes in the air from where he's about to start the engine. Quickly setting the pizza down atop the drawer by the doorway, I run up to him.

"Give me your phone," I demand, holding my palm out.

He stares at me—that same way he had in the classroom—and my heart starts pounding a mile a minute, even as he reaches to pull the device out of his pants; no questions asked. Fingers trembling, I key in the digits to my phone, stumbling through the numbers before shoving it back into his hands.

"No excuses now," I mumble.

"Enjoy your pizza."

* * *

He comes in late for class, strolling through the door and doesn't even bother greeting the teacher before slinking to the back of the room where he usually sits. Nobody gives him a second look—nobody is stupid enough to even try, anyway—but after that run-in last night, I can't help but think that Sam Evans is simply misunderstood.

I mean, surely, if he were somehow involved in gang activity, he wouldn't be delivering pizza. He'd probably be stoned somewhere in a bar, engaged in a gunfight or another, earning himself another scar, or probably out working for a mob. Taking a calculated risk, I sneak a glimpse over my shoulder at him.

Oh, great, he's fast asleep.

* * *

"I can't stay long," he tells me as he dumps the books into his locker. "You have me for half an hour and then I'll have to split."

"What? Why?"

He shrugs, slamming the door shut. "None of your business."

Fine.

"Okay, then, what do you propose we do for half an hour?" I really don't mean for the sarcasm to come out, and the instant it reaches my ears, I wish I could take it back, especially when Sam just fixes me with another one of his stares. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it—"

"You want to come over instead?"

I blink, unsure if I'd heard him right.

"Huh?"

"I'm babysitting Stevie and Stacey tonight," he informs me rather monotonously. "If you're so hung up over this assignment, you can come over and we'll work on it."

I can only assume that he's talking about his siblings, but I don't think being in a house alone with him is a good idea. The things I've heard—the wild parties, the drug raids—echo in my head, and I suppose Sam senses my hesitation.

"You scared?" There's a slight mocking to his smirk.

"No."

"Well, then, which one are you unsure about? The child prostitution or the meth?"

How is he so nonchalant about this?

"Neither."

"The drug raids?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

He snickers then, rolling his eyes. "So you're one of those who actually believe all that shit about me?"

"I don't." A little white lie doesn't hurt anybody. "And it's not like you're ever there to deny it."

"Why? Are you going to believe me?"

"Maybe."

"You should work on your lying a bit more."

* * *

"So he just stormed away?"

"Yeah, and we have yet to even start on the assignment," I grumble, huffing as I flop down on the couch. "How is it coming along with Puck?"

Rachel snorts in reply. "I have more luck training a monkey than getting him to sit still for barely ten minutes. He's got the attention span of a goldfish."

"I swear, guys are more complicated than we are."

"Darn right about that." There's a short pause, and then she continues. "What do you think his story is?"

"Who? Puck?"

"Sam."

"Obviously the rumors aren't true, right?"

I can just imagine Rachel's thoughtful pout as she ponders on. "I wouldn't exactly rule them out if I were you. I mean, he was at the scene when the police showed up at that bar."

Again, where does she hear this stuff? "I should apologize to him, you know."

"What for?"

"Assuming the worst."

* * *

I spot him during lunch as I'm heading towards the cafeteria. He stops at a water fountain and bends over to have a drink, so I grab that opportunity and jostle my way over. Inhaling a deep breath for a final boost of courage, I square my shoulders and timidly poke him on the back.

"Hey."

Sam doesn't answer me right away, but rather languidly wipes his mouth with the back of his hands, cautiously darting his eyes around. "Can I help you?"

"What happened to your eye?"

There's a fresh cut right above the line of his eyebrow that he hadn't even bothered to conceal, and by the looks of it, seems pretty deep. Reaching up, he haphazardly rearranges his blonde hair so that it falls over and hides the wound.

"Kitchen cabinet."

Sure.

"Are you babysitting again?"

"Yeah," he nods.

"Okay, then. Meet me at your locker after school and we'll go to your place."

I can tell that he's not entirely convinced with the plan, because he narrows those green eyes of his and studies my face as though he's uncovering the secrets to life. "What about your boyfriend? He won't mind?"

"We're just working on a project," I counter, feeling my initial confidence crumble before me. Damn Sam Evans. "I'm sure he understands."

"Alright, then."

* * *

"Are you out of your fucking mind? Quinn, he's a fucking criminal!"

My boyfriend is totally blowing this out of proportion, and right now, I'm just glad that we're out on the football field instead of having this overdramatic scene in front of the entire student body. He tugs on his dark chocolate hair and paces around heatedly.

"He's not a criminal, Finn," I retort. "Just because his dad is in prison doesn't make him a felon."

"He's dangerous."

Planting my hands on my hips, I glare right back at him. "So I've been told, but I've talked to him a couple of times and I've never once felt that my safety is in jeopardy. He delivered pizza to my house, for goodness sake."

"He knows where you live?"

Okay, I probably shouldn't have said that.

"Well…" I really don't know how to phrase this to him in a way that will make him stop overreacting. "It's not like he was stalking me, right?"

"Stalking you?" he flares out. "That motherfucking creep."

And then he goes on and on about it.

Oh, God, just kill me now.

"Finn!" I yell, cutting him off mid-rant. "You need to stop freaking out. I'm just going over to his house so that Sam and I can work on the project. I can't afford to fail this assignment. Look, if it makes you feel better, you can pick me up afterwards, alright?"

He gathers himself long enough to nod. "You'll call me if anything happens, right?"

"Sure. I'll let you know if he starts cooking meth."

* * *

"You can't be serious."

I'm staring at his sports bike; wary and apprehensive about how this is all going to play out. Honestly, I don't even know what I'd expected—maybe a beat-up truck or something—but definitely not a two-wheeled accident machine. Pointedly, he pushes a spare helmet—one that he keeps in his locker for some odd reason—into my hands, but doesn't offer me any assurance that my life is safe and intact.

Sam is already fitting on his own full-faced helmet—his visor tinted black—before I can further grill him on road issues, and as he goes about straddling the bike, I can't help but think of how in control and comfortable he is. Then again, maybe a beat-up truck isn't his type after all.

"You can walk if you want to."

My thoughts immediately fly to Finn, and how he's going to shit himself if he finds out about this. Vowing to never mention it, I take a swift glance around the empty parking lots before slipping the helmet on. And then I stare at him, totally clueless as to what I'm supposed to do next.

"Step on the foot rest and bring your leg over," he explains. "Hang on to my shoulders for balance if you have to."

Gingerly, I follow his instructions, feeling his toned muscles ripple beneath my fingertips when I dig my nails a little too deep into his flesh. He doesn't even flinch when my arms automatically tighten around his waist, hard enough to choke a bear.

"You alright back there?"

I swallow audibly.

This better be worth it.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, so that's basically part 1, and this story is done by the way, so I'll be updating the subsequent chapters progressively. And let's just say I think it'll be really hot to see Sam riding a bike, like I'll totally weep in front of him. Anyway, let me know what you think!

Song used: "Build You Up" by Kim Taylor


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Here's the second installment!

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Build You Up**

**Part 2**

**Feel the fever  
****I can feel it down inside my soul and I  
****Will be the one to build you up**

They're sweet kids—his brother and sister—and for the most part, they listen to him without complains. Sure, he lives in a dingy apartment right down from the red light district, in some dodgy corner, but aside from the lurkers roaming the streets, his place is actually rather homey—in that scratchy, motel-looking kind of way.

"Ignore the mess. We can't afford a housekeeper," Sam murmurs as he fusses about trying to sort out the common area. After ensuring that his siblings are preoccupied watching some cartoon show on the television, he brings me over to their tiny box of a kitchenette.

"Are you wondering where I stash the bodies?"

I don't even realize that I'm doing it, and God forbid, I really hadn't meant to offend him with the scrutinizing. "What? No—sorry, I didn't—"

"Let's just get on with this so that you can run back along, out of these nasty woods, okay?" He carelessly tosses his backpack on the counter and then blows the hair out of his eyes.

"Look, I didn't mean it like that—"

"Just forget it, Fabray."

After that, he just keeps all his answers to a minimal, replying only when absolutely necessary, and it's frustrating because it's not doing anything for the project. Personally, I don't care if his academic record looks like a health inspector's report of a dumpster, but I really need this grade to get into Yale, which is probably the only reason I haven't all but marched out of the house.

Finally, I've reached my breaking point.

"Okay, what's your problem, Sam Evans?" I burst out, at the same time trying to keep my volume down so that I don't rattle Stacey and Stevie. "Why are you being so uncooperative?"

His eyes—green and piercing—snap up to meet mine. "Why are you really here, Fabray?"

I scrunch my nose up in confusion. "Because we need to work on this project."

"Really? With me?"

"It's not like I had a choice."

Where is he getting at, anyway?

"Do you even want to be here?" he asks again, his gaze never faltering.

"What do you mean?"

His brows furrow as he leans closer, narrowing the space between us. "What is it that you really want from me? Do you need more juicy gossip to spread around because the fucking school ran out of untrue things to say about me?"

I reel back in shock. Really? Is that what he thinks of me? A gossipmonger?

What the hell? I don't believe I've ever been so insulted in my entire life.

"Well, someone's just so full of himself, isn't he?" I spit out, loudly scraping the chair back as I jump to my feet, having enough for the day. "You know what, you have my number. Call me when you've decided to get over yourself."

Not even bothering to bid farewell to his brother and sister, I stalk out of the door into the dead of the night.

* * *

Finn pulls up by the curb, a look of disdain etched on his face as he studies the surroundings. Wordlessly, I slide into the passenger's seat and welcome the warmth from inside the car. He drops a chaste peck on my cheek, his lips chapped and cold.

"This place is fucking surreal," he mutters. "It's like a scene out of a mafia movie."

"I just want to get out of here," I sigh, completely exhausted.

"You eaten yet?"

"Lost my appetite."

* * *

Sam doesn't show up for class, and I can't find his bike in the parking lot. I don't have his number because he doesn't call me—ever—so I'm stuck sitting alone at my desk, cursing his existence. Mr. Schue shoots me a sympathetic look, but I try to show him how much his false pretense doesn't bother me, even though it does.

Screw him.

This is his fault, anyway.

And Sam Evans isn't even worth it.

* * *

It's Friday, so that basically entails a night out with the girls. As usual, Santana gets to pick the activity of choice, and of course, she insists on the new club that had just recently opened downtown.

Crap.

This can go one way or another, but with Santana and alcohol involved, I'm positive we're all in for a crazy night. Rachel appoints me the designated driver because according to her, she's going to—and I quote—'succumb to inebriation and party till the sun comes up', and since I'm pretty much Little Miss Responsible, it becomes my duty to play nanny to my two best friends.

The loud bass and heavy thumping rhythm gets a little too much after a while, so I decide to skip outside for some fresh air. My eardrums definitely need some rest, and after checking in that Santana and Rachel haven't lost sight of each other, I head out the front where it's less smoky and stuffy.

Perhaps I should take a short walk. I mean, the night feels great, and there's nothing better than having some well-deserved alone time to myself. Turning at a junction, I take a left into a quiet lane. A stray cat skitters past and brushes against my leg, but just as I'm leaning down to pat it, I notice a pair of scuffed sneakers from the corner of my eyes, peeking out from behind a corner. Ignoring it, I continue walking.

And that's when the footsteps start.

My heart starts speeding up, and so does my pace, but I don't know where the hell I'm going. The air has changed, the icy tension now creeping into my body as a million thoughts race through my mind.

And then I feel a strong grasp on my wrist—vice-like, almost bruising through my bones—and before I'm able to register anything; I'm being tugged into a dark corner. My back slams unceremoniously against a brick wall; rough, wandering hands venturing to dangerous territory as I struggle to break free.

"Scream and I'll fucking kill you."

Whimpering in protest, I bite on my lower lip in hopes of stifling my desperate cries, until he shoves the material of my top aside to coarsely cup my breasts. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pray that this isn't happening to me—that this is all some sick nightmare that I'll wake up to—but as he sinks his teeth into the column of my neck, a sobbing yelp escapes my throat.

"I thought I told you to shut up."

I brace myself for the worst, when all of a sudden, his weight is lifted off me, and I look to see that he's already sprawled on the ground. Wrapping my arms protectively around my trembling form, I watch, as the second guy—my savior—looms over him in a boxing stance. In the shadows, I can only make out faint silhouettes, but then punches are being thrown and all I hear are grunts and howls of pain. Terrified and traumatized, my legs feel numb from the ordeal, while all I can think of is to run.

"You okay?"

That voice; that all-too-familiar sultry low timbre.

"Sam?"

There's a pause.

"Fabray?"

* * *

He sheds the jarring red-and-yellow windbreaker and carefully drapes it over my shivering form. I take a whiff of the grease and cheese before glancing down at the tacky logo of the pizza place.

"Thanks," I murmur gratefully as we start to walk, ashamed that out of a hundred people I know in my life, he has to be the one to witness the dramatic episode.

Sam doesn't say anything but his eyes—that stare—it speaks of volumes, and I realize the recent development that's going on between us.

He saved my life.

And he hadn't even known it was me.

It could've been anyone, and he would've done the same.

Suddenly, all the stories, all the rumors, it doesn't matter anymore.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

He weighs his words carefully, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. "When people start coming after you because your dad willingly gives himself up to go to prison while he still owes a shit load of money, you tend to need to defend yourself."

I allow his words to sink in.

The stories.

The scar.

The cut above his eye.

"I'm sorry. I can only imagine how hard—"

"Why are you out here all alone? You looking for trouble?" he cuts in, keeping his gaze straight ahead and everywhere else but me. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he probably doesn't want a pity party or a spoonful of unwarranted questions, I decide that the least I can do after he'd rescued me is to grant him that portion of privacy.

"I'm with Santana and Rachel, actually. They're inside dancing and getting wasted, and I just needed some air," I explain. "Designated driver and all."

"Sucks to be you, huh?"

I shrug. "Well, it's kind of a packaged deal."

We stop outside the entrance, the neon lights flashing as fast-tempo music trickles out, and I turn to face him once again.

"Thanks again, for, you know."

He nods once.

"We still have that assignment to work on," I remind him with a playful quirk of my eyebrow. "The deadline isn't too far away."

"I can't this weekend," he says, sounding rather apologetic. "Covering full shifts. Grandpa is babysitting the little ones."

"Monday then?"

"Sure."

* * *

I receive a text later that night—or morning, whichever—from an unknown number.

_Not a word to anybody._

Well, it's a good thing then that Santana and Rachel are already passed out on my bed.

_Got it._

* * *

Finn comes over Sunday after church, knocking on my door, dressed to the nines in a suit and tie. He even has his thick, black hair combed to the side, and despite his obvious discomfort, I can't help the amusement in my grin.

"Shut up," he grumbles.

"What's with the penguin suit?" I ask, trying to keep the laughter out of my voice. "Were you from church too?"

"I'm on my way to Kurt's stupid recital, actually," he says bitterly. "Mom is forcing me to go, and you know how much I hate it, but she insists that it'll be a nice gesture to watch my stepbrother perform, and I need you there."

I quite like Kurt, actually, and it'll be great to see him. Even though we all attend the same school, we don't exactly run in the same circle.

"Let me go fetch my purse."

* * *

The play is a little over the top, and the confetti shower during the finale is totally unnecessary, but Kurt's done a great job as Riff Raff. I've always known that he has a great voice and a flare for theatre, but with the glitter and make-up, it's just a whole different level altogether. After waiting for him to pack up and bid farewell to his cast mates, the three of us head to a nearby diner for supper.

"So, how's it going, Quinn?" he burbles excitedly when the waitress leaves to submit our orders. "Miss me yet?"

"More than you know," I say, chuckling, because it's kind of true. Whenever I come over and Finn isn't home, Kurt does a great job at keeping me entertained. "It was an amazing show, Kurt. I really enjoyed it."

Finn just snorts as a response.

"Thank you, Quinn. I'm glad that somebody," he pauses to glare at my boyfriend sitting in front of him. "Liked the play. A lot of blood, tears and sweat went into it."

"I'll say."

The food arrives and Finn immediately digs into his steak.

"So what's new with you, Fabray?" Kurt continues as he delicately slices through his chicken breast. "Last I heard, you and Sam Evans are working together on something. How's that's going?"

"Okay."

"Shit." Finn chooses that moment to participate in the conversation as well. Mouth brimming with sauce, he doesn't even wait to finish swallowing before he adds, "he's being a fucking jack-ass and wouldn't cooperate. I mean, can you believe the nerve of him, luring our Quinn into his house? Anything could've happened to her—"

"He didn't lure me in—"

His eyebrows shoot up in shock. "Are you defending him, now?"

"I'm not defending anybody—"

"I can't believe this—"

"You guys, stop," Kurt interrupts, cutting into the argument that will no doubt escalate into something more. "Finn, you need to chill out, okay? It's not cool. Let the girl talk."

Childishly, Finn slumps down in the booth and crosses his arms over his chest, and I can feel my face burning with embarrassment as everybody else in the room turns to stare at us. From beneath the table, Kurt gives my knee a comforting squeeze, and I offer him an appreciative smile in return.

"He's just misunderstood, Kurt."

* * *

"Sam!"

He turns around and the first thing I notice is the bandage wrapped around his right hand—the one that he's trying to hide from me—but narrowing my eyes, I ask, "what happened?"

"It swelled up," he sasses sarcastically.

"How?"

"Saving you doesn't come without a price, Fabray." There's a foreign glint—something playful and mischievous—in his striking green eyes, and I know he's making light of the situation.

Guilt washes over me in waves; the fact that he has to pay for my foolishness. "I'm sorry," I whisper regretfully. "You didn't have to—"

"Is there something you need?"

He does that a lot; switch the subject when it gets a little too heavy, but I'm slowly getting used to it.

"Yeah, actually." The nervousness settles in this time, as it always does when I'm talking to him, and out of habit, I start playing with the strap of my tote bag. "Chemistry project. Your place after school?"

"Sure."

I've heard that one too many times.

"You do know that I have your number and I know where you live, right?" I tell him.

The corner of his lips twitches upwards in what can only be the closest thing I've seen to a smile. "You're not stalking me, are you, Fabray?"

Funny. Very funny.

"You better be here after school, Evans."

"We'll see."

* * *

"I heard that he got into another fight," Rachel reports the moment she sets her tray down on the table.

Santana and I exchange glances.

"Who are we talking about here?" I ask, taking a bite of my carrot stick.

"Can I take a guess?"

Rachel gestures for Santana to go ahead.

"Sam Evans."

My ears perk up at the mention of his name. "What? A fight? Are you sure?"

"Did you see his hand?" Rachel rambles on, animatedly waving her arms around. "What else could it be?"

"Fifty bucks say that he started it," Santana joins in on the conspiracy.

"Another fifty bucks say that he was sent on a drug deal."

Seriously? Is that the theory going round? That's ridicuous.

I want to defend him; I really do, because nothing can be further from the truth. Here my friends are, bad-mouthing his intentions when all he'd done was come to my aid, and Sam doesn't deserve it.

"He was saving me," I blurt out without thinking, regretting it the second I realize what I've done. "While you two were inside Friday night, I took a walk outside for a breather. This creep came onto me, and somehow Sam was there, and he saved me."

My friends stare at me—long and hard—for a couple of seconds.

And then Santana's face breaks into a relieved smile, as though she's gotten some kind of hilarious joke. "You're fucking with me, right?"

"I swear to God, I'm not."

I try not to use the Lord's name in vain, as far as possible, but unfortunately, this warrants it.

More silence.

Santana blinks. "Holy shit."

"But you can't tell anybody about this, okay?" Leaning forward, I look at them dead in the eyes so that they'll understand the seriousness in the situation. "Nobody can know about this."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. He won't tell me."

* * *

He is already by his locker when I show up, and silently hands over the spare helmet. Our movements seem almost rehearsed—coordinated, somehow—but as his fingers unintentionally brush against mine and I get that unexpected jolt running all the way to my toes, I'm suddenly thrown off-course. A flicker of emotion passes through his boyish features—vague and unreadable—and I wonder if he has felt it too.

"You sure about this?" he mutters gruffly.

"Yeah," I reply barely above a whisper.

He nods, and then we're out of there. The undeniable awkwardness looms over us like a storm cloud as we cross the parking lots. A quick scan of the premise assures me that hardly anybody is still around—or anybody that's watching us, at least—and that we're able to make a safe getaway. His muscles are tensed, but as I gingerly wrap my arms around his torso, he visibly relaxes.

"Comfortable?" he asks.

"I'm good."

"Could you scoot forward a little?" he requests.

I press my front to his strong back, the soft material of his jacket rubbing against my top, and as the bike rumbles to life, I become fully aware of his body heat seeping into my skin. My thighs, aligning perfectly with his causes an unexplained stir in the pits of my stomach—a fluttering—and in the proximity, I can feel the steady rise and fall in his breathing.

"This okay?"

"Better."

* * *

The first thing that comes to mind when I step into his apartment is that the place is suspiciously too quiet. I strain my ears for an indication—telltale giggles and screams, or even the pitter-patter of feet that accompanies the presence of Sam's two siblings—but there's none.

"You didn't tell me nobody's home?"

He shrugs in that practiced nonchalance. "You didn't ask."

"So you're not babysitting today?"

Shaking his head, he goes into the kitchenette and opens the fridge. "Not working, either."

Great.

"You want anything to drink? Water? Apple juice?"

"Water is fine."

He emerges with two bottles and hands one over to me before retreating to the worn-out sofa in the living room. This is good, I suppose, the small talk is a nice change from before; the unspoken tension evaporating as I accompany him on the couch and then start pulling the materials out of my backpack.

"Are you just going to sit there?" I pointedly question him with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"You seem to have everything under control."

That's when it snaps.

"Okay, that's it, Sam Evans," I lash out, furiously tucking some hair behind my ear. "What's your problem? I know that you're not interested in this, but could you at least fake some enthusiasm for at least two hours? This assignment is important to me, alright? So why don't you—"

"Whoa, hold up there, Fabray," he jumps in, rising to his feet. "What the fuck are you yelling at me for?"

"I need you to put some effort into this, Sam—"

"Need me?" His voice goes up a notch. "Quinn, you don't need me—"

"You said my name."

His forehead crinkles at my words. "What?"

"You said 'Quinn'."

The anger dissipates some, replaced by sheer disorientation. "That's your name, isn't it?"

"You always call me 'Fabray'."

He pauses, mouth agape, and his macho façade fades away into something that I can't identify.

But then there's a shift in the air.

His eyes—green and piercing—regard me carefully, guarded and controlled, as though he's searching for an answer within me that I'm not even sure I have. Time seems to slow down in that cheesy, cliché-movie sort of way, and as I gaze up at his towering form—and the way he's looking at me with such intensity—an involuntary shiver runs down my spine. The gravitational pull is unexplainable, but it's there, and before I know it, I'm standing right in front from him.

"Say it again."

He takes a step forward.

"Quinn."

My name rolls off his tongue like sugared velvet, deep and deliberate, and it shouldn't feel so good, but it does.

"Sam…"

Our noses are barely inches apart, his warm breath ghosting above my lips.

"What do you need from me, Fabray?"

"I—I—"

And then my phone rings, shattering whatever moment we have going on, and when I see my boyfriend's name flashing on the screen, it all comes crashing down.

"I have to go."

* * *

I dial the first number I can think of.

"Hello?"

Gulping in a lungful of air, I try to will the tears away.

"Kurt," I manage to choke out in between sobs.

"Quinn?" His voice—even through the speakers—never misses its soothing lull. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

I nod at first, but then I'm shaking my head, and I'm a giant, crumbling mess, it's just so frustrating.

"I think I like him," I whisper into the phone so softly, I'm afraid he doesn't hear it.

"Who?"

"Sam. We were at his house, and then I blew up on him, and then—and then the next thing I know, we're about to kiss and—"

"Slow down, Quinn. First of all, where are you?"

"At home."

"I'm coming over."

* * *

He holds me like a great friend would, despite the fact that I'd almost cheated on his stepbrother, and doesn't say a word as I bawl my eyes out on his expensive shirt. When at last the crying has subsided to pathetic whimpers, he speaks up.

"Can I offer you an opinion, Quinn?"

"Yeah."

His fingers gently comb through my hair in a calming pattern, and he drops a kiss to the top of my crown. "I think you still feel indebted to him after he saved you that night and you feel obligated to repay the favor."

"But I was about to kiss him—"

"And if the phone hadn't rang, do you think it would've happened?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I think so."

"What makes you think you like him, then?"

Burying my face into his scrawny chest, I try to figure out the answers. It's a good full minute before I reply, "I don't know."

"Well, then, that settles it, right?"

"I guess so."

"Don't worry your pretty little head over this, okay?" he advises with a playful poke to my ribs. "He's not worth it."

* * *

**A/N:** So that's basically it for part 2! There's a slight development, not really there at the M rating yet, but that's for the next part (hint, hint)!

**Quams:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this story! I really appreciate it! Glad you liked the first part, and yes, more Sam and Quinn on a bike! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Jamber111:** Hello there! Thank you for reading and leaving a comment! Glad you liked it!

**Mandorac:** Hi! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and never failing to leave a review! Always makes my day! And yeah, those two on a bike, it could very well be a movie on its own! Hehe! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**SamEvans17:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like the story so far, and I would say that Finn is your typical alpha male in school—the jock who gets everything—for a lack of a better description. LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad you like how the story is set up to be, and yeah, school is such a typical place to build a plotline on, so I'm trying to see if I can make it a little different. I miss Fabrevans so much too. Writing is my solace, something to placate me whenever I feel like shooting RIB in the head. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Nicole:** Hi there! Awwwwww! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You're really sweet! LOL! I hope you didn't hurt yourself jumping on that bed! Hehe! I've never been fangirl-ed at before, you're definitely the first! ;P Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Samquinn evens:** Hi! Thank you so much for the lovely comment! I really appreciate it, and I'm humbled you think so :D Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Guest (1):** Hello there! Awwwwww! LOL! Thank you so much for reading my story and leaving a review! I really appreciate it, and I'm glad that you like my work! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**07RCA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you like the story so far! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**RJRRAA:** Hiiiiiiii! As always, thank you so much for reading and never failing to leave a review! I always love to hear from you! Yeah, you're right about Sam having problems, and I suppose there's a bit more explanation to his story in this update, with his father in prison and Sam is left to deal with his siblings and his grandfather. Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Guest (2):** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad that you like the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! So much love! LOL!

Song used: "Build You Up" by Kim Taylor


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Hi guys! Here's the third part of the story!

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Build You Up**

**Part 3**

**I'll build you up  
****Be the one to never doubt  
****I'll never doubt**

I know that I can't avoid him the whole entire day. At least I thought I would've made it past lunchtime, but he corners me just as I'm exiting the classroom and wordlessly takes my hand before dragging me off to some place secluded. His skin is warm from where his fingers are intertwining with mine, and it distracts me enough that I don't hear him.

"Why the fuck are you avoiding me?" he demands.

I can't even look him in the eye anymore, afraid that if I do, it'll give everything away.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

Yanking my hand out of his grasp, I scowl up at the handsome face of Sam Evans, not liking it one bit that he's calling me out. "No, I'm not," I harshly reiterate, because sometimes, defense is the best offense.

He knows, of course, and he's frustrated by my stubbornness, but as far as possible, he tries not to show it. I suppose he figures out that I'm not going to give him what he wants, and sighs, looking defeated. "I'm on shift tonight."

"Yeah, okay, fine."

There's a beat of hesitation, as though he's waiting for me to do or say something, but I don't. My stance is defiant, and I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he's affected me in any way. He makes a move to leave, and I'm releasing the breath I'm not even aware I've been holding, until he abruptly turns and pins me against the wall. His larger frame envelops me easily, and his hardness—his toned muscles—presses deliciously against my front.

"I'm going to finish what we started yesterday."

His husky voice tears me back, and realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

"No, Sam." My palms settle on his chest to push him away, but he holds it there to keep me in place. "We can't do this. I have a boyfriend."

"Don't you want to know how it'll feel like?"

I do.

"No."

"I see you haven't worked on your lying skills."

"Stop it, Sam, okay?" I mumble incoherently, solely focusing on an escape route. "Let me go."

He doesn't budge.

So I take the risk and meet his unfaltering gaze.

"Please?"

And just like that, he disappears.

* * *

My body is still tingling, even as Finn meets me by his car after school. He wraps me up in a hug, like he always does, and kisses me real quick on the side of my head, but it only makes the guilt that much heavier.

"God, I miss you," he says, flashing me one of his winning smiles.

I don't. I'm sorry.

"I miss you too."

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, and I have no choice but to look away.

Sam is right.

I need to work on my lying skills.

* * *

I stay up that night, unable to fall asleep. Tossing and turning in my bed, I don't know what's keeping me awake. I turn the lamp on and notice the Chemistry textbook on the nightstand from where I'd been reading it earlier on. With a labored sigh, I pick it up, flipping the pages until I land on a section on esterification.

If my lab partner isn't going to help me on this, I'll just complete the assignment on my own with or without him. No way am I allowing unnecessary distractions to ruin my dreams. I've worked my ass off too hard to let that happen.

My cellphone chimes.

It's Sam Evans.

_Come over tomorrow after six. We'll work on the project._

* * *

"Have you guys seen Sam today?" I ask Rachel and Santana during lunch, trying to sound as casual as possible without seeming too interested.

They exchange glances and then simultaneously shake their heads.

"Why? What's wrong now?" Santana questions in an uninterested manner, rolling her eyes as she eats a spoonful of yoghurt.

"We're supposed to work on the assignment after school," I explain, wondering if it's disappointment or frustration bubbling in my stomach. "But he's not even here."

"That just shows you can't trust a guy like Sam Evans," Rachel chirps.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

* * *

He won't return any of my calls or my text messages, so I'm just going to go ahead and assume that our meeting over at his apartment is still on. It's ten to six, and I don't have an address to give to the cab driver, but then I come across a somewhat familiar landmark and I tell the guy to drop me off.

The sun is starting to set and it's going to be dark soon. There's absolutely no way in hell I would want to walk around here in the dark. Hugging my sweater closer to my body, I hurry up the steps towards the shabby lift lobby. At first, it doesn't register to me, but as I get nearer to his door, I realize the loud noises that are coming from inside his house. It sounds like banging and scraping, and I'm not sure what to think, but then my mind goes to Stacey and Stevie, wondering if they're all right. Swallowing a huge lump in my throat, I lift a trembling fist to knock.

Nobody answers me, and the cacophony continues inside.

So I knock a little louder.

Still no answer.

I try the knob and realize that it's not locked.

And then I'm greeted by a horrible sight.

"What the—"

Sam whips around—eyes wide and alert, ready to pounce—and I let out a gasp, clamping a hand over my mouth as I take in the surroundings. Furniture and clothes are strewn about, the place fully ransacked from top to bottom with pieces of broken glass and plates scattered about on the floor. Finally, my gaze lands on the person standing in the midst of it all, like a deer caught in the headlights. A stream of blood trails down the side of his face, his hands bruised, and the bandage from before ripped away.

"Sam—"

"What are you doing here?"

"I knocked but you didn't—"

"Now is not a good time, Fabray. I suggest you leave." His tone is obvious; he doesn't want me here.

"Have you called the police?"

"This is none of your business—"

"Who did this?"

"It doesn't matter—"

I've had it.

"God damn it, Sam Evans," I burst out, sick and tired of his attitude. "What the fuck happened here?"

"Just get out, Quinn."

* * *

I'm still fuming and seething as the cab driver drops me off in front of my empty house. It doesn't bother me every other day, but tonight, it just looms overhead, reminding me that I'm all alone. Trying not to think twice about it, I entertain the idea of inviting Rachel and Santana over so that I can rant about my asshole of a partner for a quick second before realizing that it'll be an invasion to his privacy, but damn it, he's driving me absolutely insane with the hot-and-cold attitude.

I figure a nice bath would do the trick; so with a trashy lovesick novel at hand, I slip into the tub full of bubbles and sink into a slow, blissful oblivion. The warm water calms me, but just as I'm finished the first chapter of the book, I can't rid myself of a certain blonde boy with the piercing green eyes lingering in the back of my mind.

* * *

I hear the doorbell ring just as I'm getting out of my en suite. Hastily throwing a bathrobe on, I pad downstairs, ready to snap at some unsuspecting salesman who's unfortunate enough to catch me on a bad day. A quick glance at the clock on the wall informs me of the late hour.

"Sorry, I'm not interested—"

And then I realize whom it is standing at my doorstep.

Folding my arm across my chest, I jut my chin out defiantly to glare down at him. "What are you doing here?"

His eyes—green and piercing—reveal more than I need to know, because after that, he's invading on my personal space, bridging the distance to capture my lips in his.

It's soft and tentative, a gentle kiss of sorts—nothing I would've expected from Sam Evans—but it's enough to eradicate me of any coherent thoughts. His tongue—warm and moist—darts out to trace the outer contours of my mouth, sending a breathless shiver spiraling down my spine. Strong arms encircle my waist, and with a possessive tug, he presses me flushed up against his body. Moving entirely out of their own accord, my fingers rake through his soft blonde hair as he's backing me into the house, kicking the door shut along the way.

"Ask me to stop, Quinn," he whispers, nuzzling his nose into my neck. "Please."

I can't.

"Sam…"

"I need to hear you say it," he pleads, and it's then that I realize just how utterly vulnerable he is. "Stop me, Q."

"Do you need this?" I ask instead, diving in for another kiss.

"More than you know."

Reaching for his hand, I lead it to the loose knot of my bathrobe.

"Then I'm all yours."

* * *

The bed squeaks in protest under our frantic movements, pants and breathy moans filling the otherwise silent room. Hands grappling for bare flesh, my nails scrape a path down his back as he sheaths into my velvet opening in an unsteady rhythm. He hovers over me, his nose digging into the juncture between my neck and shoulder where he nips and licks a pattern, sure to leave a mark. His touch—everywhere his fingers travel—creates a burning trail before he reaches down between us to rub on my sensitive nub.

"Sam," I gasp. "Sam—I don't think I can—"

"Just a little bit more, Quinn," he croaks, his deep voice strained and sexy. "I'm so close."

"Oh, God, Sam."

His sweet lips make their way back to mine, his tongue lightly sponging the outer seams, and it's making me heady all over again because nobody has ever made me feel this way—this onslaught of fire coursing through my veins. Cradling the nape of my neck, he pulls away just a little so that he's now staring into my eyes with that ever-present intensity.

Without ceasing the rocking of his hips, he murmurs, "you don't know how long I've been waiting for you to notice me, Q; you're so beautiful."

The words are caught in my throat, and he stills himself for a moment, waiting for me to react to his confession. "Sam, I—I don't—"

"Maybe we should stop."

"What? No!" I blurt out, digging my digits into the softness of his posterior to hold him in place. The tip of his throbbing member hits a particularly delicious spot and a shiver runs down my spins. "Don't," I whimper.

"Quinn—"

"Just tonight."

A myriad of emotions flicker through the green hues of his gorgeous orbs, and it occurs to me just how vulnerable he is. His blonde bangs fall over his forehead, and once again he tries to pull out of me, but I don't let him.

"Sam—"

"I'm scared, Q."

And then there's nothing left to say.

Taking his handsome face in my palms, I bring him down to place a gentle kiss on his soft, full lips.

* * *

"What happened?" I ask quietly, afraid to break the fragile serenity as I sit between his legs and inspect his bruised hands.

"I found a note this morning—a warning that my time is running out and that I needed to pay up," he explains somewhat reluctantly. "I sent my grandpa and the kids to stay at a motel in case they come looking. When I got back, they'd already broken in, and I suppose it's a good thing I'd caught them off guard—"

I crane my neck around to check on him, and although he's not bleeding or anything, there are remnants from where he was hit. Tentatively, I reach up to touch the spot, retracting my hand immediately when he flinches.

"I'm sorry, so sorry."

He snickers. "I'm kidding. It doesn't hurt."

"Really?" I glance at him skeptically because it looks kind of nasty.

Sam shrugs his shoulders in a nonchalant manner. "After a while, it just gets numb, you know."

This is probably the most he's opened up to me, and maybe it's the post-coital glow talking, but it's so obvious that he has an entire world resting on his shoulders—the fact that he's taking the brunt from his father's mistakes—and he's keeping everything bottled up; I can't begin to think how awful it must be. All of a sudden, my problems seem so petty.

"You're not going to call the police?"

"Tried that before but they've got someone on the inside," he scoffs bitterly. "They'll just consider my call as a fucking prank."

"That's terrible."

"Yeah, well, it's an unfair world out there."

* * *

I catch him as he tries to sneak out of my room in the dead of the night. Stirring from my sleep, I hear him shuffling around, and in the darkness, I can see the outline of his silhouette making a beeline for the door.

"You're leaving?"

He freezes on the spot.

"We need to forget this ever happened, Fabray."

I don't want to, but I know it's for the best.

"Good night, Evans."

* * *

We go right back to ignoring each other in school, as though nothing had transpired between us; as though nothing has changed, but I know that we're far from it. I notice him at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall, preoccupied with his cellphone. Fresh bandages hide the ugly swelling, and I'm sure people are already speculating another brawl at a bar.

"Hey, Quinn."

Finn comes up to me as I'm putting away my books in my locker and I smile back politely when he drops a kiss to my cheek.

"Hi, Finn."

"Listen, I know we haven't been spending any time together, so I'm wondering if—you know—if your damn Chemistry partner doesn't need you today, that we can spend an afternoon at my place, maybe watch that new DVD of that dumb chick flick that Kurt had bought," he says, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looking like a nervous school boy. "My parents are out for the evening and Kurt is out on a date with Blaine."

I almost forget how sweet he is sometimes, but that only makes me feel like the world's worst girlfriend for cheating on him, because he hardly ever goes out of his way to do something nice for me. Involuntarily, my gaze flickers back to where Sam had been standing, only to find that he isn't there anymore.

"Yeah, sure," I agree, if only to eliminate a bit of the guilt.

"Great," he gushes, grinning as widely as possible. "We'll order pizza. Pepperoni and mushrooms; your favorite, right?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

* * *

I don't see Sam during lunch break or anytime after that, so I send him a text message some time during the short break between History and Algebra.

_Not free today._

His reply is instantaneous.

_Sure_.

* * *

Finn fusses about trying to get the settings right; grabbing enough pillows and extra duvets to fill the empty span of his living room as I watch on, amused by his antics. Seriously, I'm not sure what's up with him. This isn't a usual occurrence.

I'm about to open my mouth and question his intentions when the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of the pizza. He gets it without question or protest, so I decide to make myself comfortable on the makeshift pile of fluff on the floor.

"Evans?"

My ears perk up at the familiar name.

"Hey."

There it is; his deep, sensual voice—the one that's been reverberating in my head the entire day, the sound of him calling my name through the throes of passion, and it sends a tingle down to my toes.

"Pepperoni and mushroom?"

"Yeah," Finn answers, and I can't help it.

I just have to see him.

Tiptoeing over to the entryway, I take a peek from behind the wall. There's a hitch in my breath when I see him standing in that ridiculous red-and-yellow uniform, a cap pulled low to shadow his features, but his eyes—green and piercing—slices through and zeroes in on me. Finn notices this and turns around, and then his face lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

"Oh, hey, Quinn." Oblivious to the tension bouncing back and forth between Sam and I, Finn gleefully hands over the change. "I hope you don't mind me stealing your Chemistry partner for one night."

"She's your girlfriend, Hudson," Sam all but practically growled. "Do whatever you want."

With that, he spins around and walks down the pathway, out of sight.

"He's so fucking weird," Finn mutters.

* * *

His parents return home just as the credits start rolling, and I suppose that's my cue to leave. Not that I don't like Burt and Carole, but they're just the epitome of a perfect family, that it just reminds me of the lack of love in mine. After exchanging pleasantries, Finn offers to send me back like the good boyfriend that he is, but the ride is exceptionally quiet. He doesn't say much, just plugs in the stereo and we listen to some rock and roll, and before we know it, I'm staring up at the huge Fabray mansion.

A lopsided grin makes an appearance on his lips as he turns to look at me. "So I'll see you tomorrow in school?"

I nod, returning the smile. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."

He leans over the handbrakes and plants a chaste kiss on my lips.

And I don't know why, but I feel like I'm cheating on Sam instead.

* * *

The lunch bell rings, and I zip out of the classroom, sprinting through the throngs of students in the hallway and practically tripping on my own two feet. I see him by his locker, casually putting books away. Even under the jarring fluorescent lights, he manages to look so ruggedly handsome, and immediately my heart starts speeding up.

"Hey."

Sam whips his head around, startled by my presence. His eyebrows shoot up beneath the curtain of his blonde hair before prudently snapping his striking green eyes towards the crowd of people heading towards the cafeteria.

"Hi."

"So…" I had meant to ask him about our Chemistry project, I really had, but staring up at him now just stirs something in the pit of my stomach.

"So…" he echoes, his teeth catching the bottom of his full lip.

"After school?" I manage to choke out. "Your place?"

He hesitates. "I don't think it's safe there. They still have people on the look out, and I don't want you getting roped into this."

"Mine, then?"

His searing gaze burns a line down to my core—igniting a familiar tingling sensation—and I swear to God he can probably hear the pounding in my pulse; can possibly sniff out the pheromones simmering between our bodies. Involuntarily, I take a step forward, the tiny reaction enough to jolt him back to his senses.

"Tonight."

* * *

He has me pinned to the back of the door, pressing me between the heavy oak and his unyielding body—so warm and inviting—as he sinks his moist tongue into the honeyed cove of my mouth, tasting of mint and cheap beer. It's a deadly combination, one so unique; it can only ever be associated to Sam Evans.

His hands slide down to my rear, cupping me by my curves and giving a gentle squeeze before effortlessly lifting me up. Clinging onto his neck, my legs come up instinctively to wrap around his tapered hips. A cry of pleasure explodes from my throat when his hardened bulge comes in contact with my sensitized center, and the friction from his jeans causes another gasp to escape as I clumsily fumble with the zipper on his hoodie. Dexterous fingers slide underneath the flimsy material of my tank top and stroke up the bare expanse of my spine to rid me of the offending clothing.

Disentangling myself from his hold, Sam sets me down gently on my feet and proceeds to strip me out of my shorts while I pluck on the buttons of his pants. His shirt follows soon after, joining the mounting pile on the floor, and without pausing to catch our breaths, he fuses our lips together once again. In a heated daze, he carries me back into his arms.

We only ever manage to make it halfway up the stairs before he's ripping my lace underwear down the length of my legs and freeing his throbbing manhood from the confines of his cotton boxers.

"Quinn—" he strangles out.

"Now, Sam."

He carefully aligns himself with my aching entrance, and with one urgent push, he transports me into a downward spiral of shattering fulfillment.

* * *

Naked and tangled in sheets, we finally make a start on that Chemistry assignment, and contrary to popular belief, Sam is actually academically competent. He fools everybody with his flippant façade, but in truth, he is a rather hard worker. Brows furrowed in concentration, he nibbles on the tip of the pen as he studies the equation on the page.

"That doesn't balance anything out, does it?" he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Glancing over his broad shoulder, I examine the problem, spotting the error straight away. "You forgot about the two that you've placed before the sulphuric acid," I point out.

"Damn it."

Dropping a kiss to the slope of his neck, I return to my own set of equations, and we work in silence until my cellphone gives a chime, signaling an incoming text message. My boyfriend's name flashes on the screen.

_Miss you, beautiful._

"You're not worried?"

I tilt my head to face him. "About what?"

"Hudson finding out about this."

"He'll hurt you, Sam."

"Nothing much ever hurts me anymore, Q."

* * *

"Have you seen Rachel lately, San? She disappears a lot during lunch."

Miss Lopez obnoxiously chews on a carrot stick and rolls her eyeballs before replying to my question. "Do I look like a fucking GPS, Quinn?" she retorts sarcastically. "The Hobbit is probably out trying to find a nose to replace that beak of hers."

"Santana," I chastise, playfully slapping her on the arm. "What did we discuss before about your disdain for her facial features?"

"Oh, please," she scoffs. "We both know it's an itch just waiting to be scratched. I just have more pussy to say it out loud."

Apparently her word filter is broken today, so she's being extra crude.

"Seriously, though," I butt in before she can make anymore horrible remarks about the brunette. "She didn't tell you anything?"

"Nope. _Nada_."

"That's so unlike her."

"You think?"

* * *

"He's cheating on you."

I can feel his hot breath caressing my skin as he leans in close to whisper in my ear. The metallic door of my locker provides for a wonderful shield from prying listeners and in the proximity, the clean scent of soap and deodorant wafts into my nose. Turning my gaze up at his boyish face, I notice that his blonde hair is still marginally damp from a fresh shower.

"Who are you talking about?" My forehead crinkles in confusion. "Finn?"

"I saw him with someone."

There's a sharp punch to my gut, that ugly feeling of betrayal engulfing my person, and I realize how incredibly hypocritical it is of me to want to hunt my boyfriend down and leave a permanent handprint on his cheek. So instead, I inhale a deep, calming lungful of air.

"Who?"

His expression is hard and unreadable; a perfect poker face for the bearer of bad news. "One of your friends."

And I just know.

"Rachel."

He nods, and I'm grateful that he isn't sympathetic about it because that's exactly the last thing I need at the moment.

"When?"

"Does it matter?"

I purse my lips together to keep my wounded pride in line, blinking away the tears that are threatening to fall. "It was during lunch, wasn't it?"

"In the janitor's closet," he affirms.

"I need to go."

* * *

Rachel has Glee Club everyday after school—some show choir thing that she's into—so I decide to wait for her. She is, of course, surprised to see me standing outside the auditorium, but otherwise doesn't look suspicious or guilty.

"Hey, Quinn," she greets cheerfully, that theatrical grin spreading across the span of her features. "What are you still doing in school?"

"Finn's busy," I say, trying not to give anything away. "Do you think you can give me a lift home?"

"Yeah, sure."

We make our way towards the parking lots while Rachel rambles on about the new solo that she's been given for Sectionals, and how excited she is that her talents are being recognized. On occasion, I'll insert a comment or two and offer my obligatory support, but I suppose she's all worked up enough that she doesn't detect the lack of enthusiasm on my part.

It's only when we're on the road that she asks me, "are you okay, Quinn?"

Might as well be upfront with her.

"Rachel, you're one of my really good friends, right?"

She cocks her head to one side, keeping her eyes peeled on the road. "Yeah," she drags out the syllable.

"So you'll be honest with me, right?"

"Of course."

Pausing for a moment, I clear my throat before going in for the kill. "Are you fooling around with Finn?"

The car slows down to a stop by the sidewalk, the deafening silence engulfing the space between us. Her back stiffens, her grip on the steering wheel tightening till her knuckles turn white, and I have to look past her to the moving traffic outside the window because it hurts so much even when it shouldn't. We sit for a while, both lost in our own thoughts.

"I'm sorry." Her voice—usually so flamboyant and loud—is nothing but an audible whisper.

That's all I need to hear.

Unbuckling my seat belt, I open the door and walk away.

* * *

Half an hour later, I find myself standing in front of his doorstep, hand poised to knock on his door. Mustering up a final burst of courage, I give it a sharp rap. It takes a few seconds before I receive the acknowledgement that I need to know that he is home—even though the car sitting in the driveway is enough of an indication.

"Quinn!" he exclaims, obviously not expecting me to show up unannounced. "What are you—sorry—come on in."

"No, this will just take a minute."

Finn regards my hostile demeanor and steps out into the front porch. He extends his arm to reach out for me but I back away from his touch. Frankly, I'm way past being disgusted—too emotionally drained to even care—and all I want to do is curl up in my bed with a pint of ice cream in my hands.

Frowning at my odd behavior, he curiously demands, "what's wrong, Quinn?"

There isn't a pause, no degree of hesitation.

"Are you screwing around with Rachel?"

He is incredulous—repulsed even—at the prospect, but I reckon that's what makes him such a damn good liar. "Where did you hear that?"

"That's not important, Finn," I snap back. "What's important is that Rachel admitted to it. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

His fingers clench themselves into tight fists by his side and I know that his temper is on the verge of flaring up like it always does. He is never one to be able to control his tantrum, not when his ego and reputation are involved.

"Can you blame me, Quinn?" he spits out bitterly, his chest heaving with contained rage. "I know something's going on between you and that fucking Evans; don't deny it. It's in the way you two look at each other; makes me sick."

"You don't get to use me as an excuse, Finn."

"You're fucking him behind my back, aren't you?"

How dare he.

"Go to hell, Hudson."

* * *

_Pick me up?_

Five seconds later, my cellphone rings and his deep, soothing voice fills the emptiness of the night.

"Where are you?"

"At the junction between fourth and sixth."

"Alright, hang tight, Q," he says. "I'm on my way."

* * *

**A/N:** Voila! That's part 3, full of drama; full of angst…high school is tough! Just for your information, I do not condone cheating. No matter how glamorous it sounds in a story, that doesn't mean I agree to it. Quinn shouldn't have done what she did with Sam while she's still with Finn, but you know, when you're young and you have to deal with hormones, things happen! I hope you guys have enjoyed the Fabrevans scenes—Sam and Quinn getting down and dirty! LOL! One more last part to go!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You always have wonderful comments! LOL! Yeah, pizza delivery uniform! I always like how there's always a different side to a person than what everybody thinks because people are always so quick to judge a person based on assumptions. That scene where Sam switched from calling her Fabray to Quinn, I enjoyed that bit so much! I had to interrupt the almost kiss, of course, you know, for dramatic purposes :P Hope you've enjoyed the update!

**RJRRAA:** Hellooooooo! Thank you so much for constantly reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the scene where Sam saved her! That was a little tough to write, hopefully the intensity showed through! Let me know if you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Team Wallflower:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like how the story is so far! Cheers!

**07RCA:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a comment for the previous part! Glad to know that I hadn't disappointed, phew! LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**xSilverandGreenx:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate your wonderful comments! It gives me tingles too! LOL! I'm glad I've inspired you to write a story of your own! Please do, and I definitely look forward to reading them! There can never be enough Fabrevans stories in here!

**Quams:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked how I've portrayed Sam, and yeah, after seeing him in a leather jacket, I couldn't help it! I mean, he did stand up to Karovski in the show, and that bruise is kind of sexy! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**SamEvans17:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! LOL! Yeah, Finn just always ruins things, doesn't he? Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Quicklove202:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like how the story is so far! Cheers!

**Dosqueen67:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading my story and leaving a wonderful comment! I really appreciate it! Yeah, I do admit, the bad-boy-good-girl thing has been done more times than I can remember reading them all, but I'm glad to know that you like my take on it! Such a wonderful compliment! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Team Wallflower:** LOL! Just how many teams are there in the wallflower family? Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter! Hope you like this one too! Cheers!

Song used: "Build You Up" by Kim Taylor


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Hi guys! So this is the final installment for this story. I had a lot of fun with it! It's something different from what I usually write about, but at the same time it has some similar themes. Hope you guys have enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Build You Up**

**Part 4**

**Can you see how  
****Can you see how far we've come?  
****It's such a miracle**

We stop by one of those cheap and dingy coffee places to each grab a cup of diluted brew. It tastes bitter on my tongue and smells a little charred, but as I glance over at Sam sitting beside me on the curb, I realize that I don't seem to mind it too much. Lifting my gaze up to the black sky, I seek out the moon and the stars for solace.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean that you're free for the taking?"

His question catches me off guard and I blink into his piercing green eyes. "That depends."

"On what?"

"Not what; whom."

He searches my face, long and hard even though his own—guarded and aloof—gives nothing away. A gentle breeze blows across, dancing between the wisps of his blonde hair, and it looks so inviting, I'm just tempted to run my fingers through them.

"Can I have you?" he asks.

I feel a catch in my throat as he closes in. "Maybe," I breathe out.

"Will you have me?"

The tip of his nose grazes against mine.

"Probably."

"What do I have to do to convince you?" he murmurs in that low timbre.

"Kiss me."

He complies wordlessly, sweeping his full lips over my coffee-stained ones in a fleeting caress before delving in for something deeper. One bandaged hand slides up to cradle my cheek, pulling me in as he slips his exquisite tongue into my awaiting mouth.

"Does that work for you?" he rasps out when we part for air.

"Absolutely."

* * *

Sam—not being big on public displays of affection—suggests that we keep our newly developed relationship on the down low, or at least not flaunt it so much in Finn's face. At my silent protest, he insists that it's only tactful, especially since my ex isn't the only party that's at wrong, which I suppose is true, so I hitch a ride from Santana instead because Rachel is indefinitely out of the running.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?" the Latina demands when she pulls into my driveway, slightly peeved that she had to go about the long way to pick me up.

"Rachel's been screwing Finn behind my back," I scowl, tugging on the seatbelt.

"The fuck?" he exclaims. "How long has it been happening?"

I shrug my shoulders non-committedly. "Don't know, don't give a rat's ass."

"Holy shit."

* * *

There's a commotion in the parking lot; a crowd forming in a circle, cheering and shouting, and I turn to Santana, exchanging glances as she brings the car to a stop. Wondering if there's some kind of high school event that I'm not informed of, I curiously step out of the car to head over, but then Rachel is sprinting up to me in sheer panic.

"Quinn!" she skids to a halt, panting and gulping in mouthfuls of oxygen. "You have to stop them!"

"Stop what?" I scrunch my face in confusion. "Who?"

"Finn and his friends," she blurts out. "They're beating the crap out of Sam and—"

I don't hear the end of it before I'm spearing my way through the body of people till I find an opening, and my blood runs cold at the sight before me, rendering me catatonic for that split second. I see Sam, sprawled on the floor, clearly in an immense amount of pain, curled up and wincing every time a foot or a fist comes flying to his being. Surrounding him like hungry vultures are four burly seniors, all donning the school's letterman jacket, and leading the hunt is none other than Finn Hudson himself. A gut-wrenching cry jolts me out of my shock, and then I'm charging forward, shoving at my former flame.

"Stop it!" I yell, hitting him square in the chest. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Finn?"

He barely flinches and completely ignores me as he lands another kick to Sam's kidney.

"I said stop! Finn! Stop it!"

"He deserves it, Quinn."

"What did he ever do to you?" I shriek, losing all composure.

"He made you his bitch, that's what."

I slap him across the face, the satisfying whiplash ringing loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, and feel the pulsating sting in my palm, but I swear; all I want to do at the moment is to knee him in the balls.

Fortunately for him, a teacher steps in just then, saving him from another shit-load of agony.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

Mr. Schuester takes one look at Sam and registers the hatred pouring out of my glare, and I know he's putting two and two together.

"Principal's office, Finn. Now."

* * *

The doctor is unable to disclose any information unless I'm a close relative, so I lie and tell him that I'm his sister. For the most part, I suppose he believes me, and I'm thankful for the blonde in my hair.

"He's unconscious at the moment; cracked a few ribs so he's hooked up on morphine. It's nothing serious but it'll take a few weeks to recover. Otherwise, he's stable."

I heave a sigh of relief.

"Can I see him?"

"Of course."

My hand freezes on the door handle, terrified, as though I'm facing my fears for the first time in my life. Swallowing what little moisture lingers in my parched throat, I mentally brace myself for an image. As silently as possible, I enter the cold, dim room, the stillness broken only by the constant beeping of the heart monitor. I will myself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, and as I edge closer to the bed, I notice the multiple layers of bandages encompassing his torso.

And for the first time since the ride in the ambulance, I break down and cry.

"I'm so sorry, Sam."

* * *

Somebody has to inform his grandfather about this—if the school hasn't already—but the nurse hands over his cellphone and wallet, and I realize I should be the one doing so. It is only fair, after all, seeing that I'm the reason why Sam is in this situation to begin with. My fingers tremble as I scroll through his list of contacts, and before I can chicken out, I hit the 'call' button.

An hour later, a man ambles into the room with two kids in tow, looking more than worried for his eldest grandson. He doesn't even seem concerned when both Stacey and Stevie automatically scramble onto my lap.

"You must be Quinn," he says, extending a hand out. His wrinkles form rivers across his forehead, ending right where his graying hair begins, and his startling blue eyes are kind as he regards me with a level of fondness. "I'm sorry we have to meet under such unfortunate circumstances."

A fresh round of tears threaten to spill over, but I refuse to shed a single one in front of his family.

I'm sorry too.

* * *

Nobody argues with me when I volunteer to stay. Santana had called to check on me, and informed me that Finn is officially expelled from a month of school. When I had told her of my plans to live the night in the hospital, she offers to bring me some clothes.

Sam has yet to rouse from his sleep, but I refuse to leave his side.

I get drowsy after a while just sitting in the uncomfortable chair, and before I know it, I find myself deep in slumber.

* * *

"Quinn? Hey, Quinn?"

There's a light tapping on my hand, and groggily, I lift my eyelids to the morning glare of the sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Groaning, I raise my head from the makeshift pillow of my arm and as my vision focuses, I realize that I'm staring straight into those gorgeous pair of green eyes.

"Sam," I gasp, and instinctively run my fingers through my disheveled hair, hoping that I look somewhat presentable and not like a hobo on the streets. "How are you feeling? Do you need me to get the nurse or the doctor?"

"No, I'm fine," he slurs, still drugged on the painkillers, and then makes an attempt to sit up. Wincing from the effort, he forgoes the struggle and slumps back down, grumbling, "shit."

"Try not to move too much," I tell him, reiterating what the doctor had advised. "Are you hungry? Or thirsty? Do you need anything?"

A lopsided grin makes an appearance on his tired face. "Stop fussing, Q."

I flop back down on the plastic chair and groan. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry for this. I didn't expect him to—you didn't need to—damn it—I just—I can't believe him," I manage to sputter out in the midst of my renewed resentment. "What a fucking asshole."

"Quinn Fabray, did you just cuss out loud?" Sam chuckles.

"I don't know how it is that you're laughing, Sam," I mutter, not at all amused. "I still can't understand why he'd—"

"Hey," he cuts me off to avoid a full-on rant-fest. "I'm fine. Now please give me a kiss and make me feel better."

* * *

Despite my best efforts to cook up excuses, I'm forced to return to school, and my parents have been giving me hell about not sleeping in my own bed for the past four days, so I'm obligated to fulfill that tiny spectrum of responsibilities.

For the better part of it, my mom had been confused. The last she'd heard, I was still with Finn, but it's safe to say that after recounting the gruesome details of my ex-boyfriend's vulgar escapade, she's now definitely on Team Evans.

I've been restless the entire day, hardly able to concentrate on any of my classes knowing that Sam will be discharged later in the afternoon. Somehow or another, the word gets around, and then Noah Puckerman is walking up to me during lunch break.

"You need a ride to the hospital?"

He seems sincere enough. "Sure, thanks."

* * *

Turns out, Puck and Sam are rather good buds. I'm not sure how the story goes exactly, but I suppose Finn must've done something idiotic again and messed their friendship up. They hadn't been close even before the whole incident in the parking lot, and somehow or another, that must've paved a bonding session for these two.

What I do know, however, is that they work together delivering pizza and would occasionally hang out to play basketball or video games, and as I sit in the back of the car listening to them interact like old friends, it occurs to me just how wrong my initial impression of both boys had been. Sure, Noah is a jerk most days, and has a line of girls falling for his penis all the way to China, but through their conversations, I quickly learn that he's just afraid to get his heart broken again.

"Sorry I wasn't there, dude," he says. "Would've totally jumped in to help you."

"It's good, man, don't worry about it," Sam assures him with a careless wave of his hand.

"I swear, though, he's such a dick," Puck eggs on. "What's the deal anyway?"

My boyfriend just shrugs and takes a quick glimpse over his shoulder at me. "I stole his girl."

The resident Mohawk cracks up as though he's heard the world's funniest joke, and I can't say that I'm not a tiny bit offended. I can only imagine what's whirring on in that pea-sized brain of his, but I'm sure he thinks Sam is kidding.

"Oh shit, you're fucking serious?" When Sam doesn't answer him, he glances at me from the rearview mirror. "So you guys are really together? Like dating, making out—the whole nine yards?"

"Shut up, Puck."

* * *

**Everything is  
****Everything is clear and  
****You are such a wonder and I  
****Will be the one to build you up**

I visit him everyday after school to help him catch up on the assignments. Our chemistry project is due tomorrow, so we've been doubling up to complete it, and as empathetic as Mr. Schuester is, he's pretty strict with deadlines, which also means that he's not granting us an extension.

Santana dutifully drops me off in front of the scrappy building, and the elevator gives a shudder and a lurch before taking me up to the appropriate floor. The corridor is cramp, but as I get to his unit, I find his door ajar.

"Sam?" I call out, gingerly stepping through the threshold. "You home?"

There's no response, and as I scan the room, I notice a rather large box sitting in the middle of the common area, and then several more bags on the sofa. What the heck is going on?

"Sam?" I holler a little louder.

He emerges then, his face red and dripping with sweat. Shirtless and only dressed in a pair of low-slung jeans, his embalmed chest glistens with each strained huff, his blonde hair damp and sticking up in sodden points.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my brow furrowing with worry. "What's going on?"

"I'm packing up some stuff," he explains gruffly. "I'm taking grandpa and the kids out of here."

"What? Why?"

He bends over with some difficulty and plucks a crumpled sheet of paper from the coffee table, handing it over for me to read. The scrawls are untidy and practically illegible, big and imposing in bold black marker, and as my eyes fly over the words, I realize what it is.

"One week?" I snap my gaze up to meet his. "How are you going to get that much money in time?"

"That's why I need to leave. If anything, it will buy me some time, and I can't work in my condition."

Oh, God, I need to sit down.

"Where are you going?"

He takes a step forward, regret etched in his handsome features, and I'm once again overwhelmed with his scent and the comfort in our proximity. "I'm not sure yet."

"For how long?"

"Don't know," he answers, so forlorn it breaks my heart. "I don't want to leave you, Quinn, but you know I won't do it if it's not important."

A whimper resonates in my throat as I nod wordlessly, and he envelops me in his strong embrace, dropping a kiss to the top of my head. I cling onto him—still mindful of his injuries—while I try to imprint every curve and juncture into memory, and I don't even mind that he's a little bit sticky with a coat of sheen on his skin.

"I love you."

It comes out so naturally, so right.

"I love you too, Quinn Fabray."

* * *

We make that night worth it, our passion fueled by the desperate uncertainties of the future even as we take things slow. His healing ribs restrict the more aggressive movements and he is growing a little impatient with the gentle teasing.

"Goodness, Quinn," he grates out when I draw a road down to his navel with the tips of my fingers. "I'm not some fragile porcelain doll."

I giggle breathlessly against his soft, full lips before capturing them between my own in a potent, wanton kiss. He grasps onto my hips, kneading and massaging a sensual rhythm before plunging his tongue into my mouth. Our mutual hunger burns like a raging inferno, threatening to lick everything in its path, and without even bothering to disrobe me of my dress, he navigates his talented hands up to tug on the waistband of my cotton underwear, promptly discarding it in one swift movement. I begin my work on his belt but he distracts me with peppered kisses down the slope of my neck and takes over instead.

He guides me backwards, keeping a steady grip on my waist and the under side of my knees come in contact with the old sofa. I bring him down with me, but decide that I don't want him on top—not tonight. I want to have my way with him, so I roll him over to a straddle, sucking a sharp intake of air when his throbbing member presses into my aching core. As our lips fuse together again, he reaches around me and flicks on the clasp of my bra.

"Oh, God, you're so beautiful," he murmurs huskily.

"You ready?" I whisper.

"Always."

* * *

"You'll call me, right?"

He nods, shoving his hands deep into the front pockets of his denims.

I stare longingly at his boyish features, allowing myself a few more seconds in delaying the inevitable. "Take care of yourself, Sam."

"You too, Quinn."

"You'll come back?"

He swoops in to steal a final kiss goodbye—one so bittersweet, it sends tears streaming down my cheeks—and I never want to let him go.

"I promise."

* * *

It's been a month since I've last heard from him—a short, lonesome call informing me that he and his family are safe—but he has yet to update me as of recent and it's slowly driving me insane with anxiety. I'm constantly checking on my cell phone, anticipating the next time I'll be able to hear that deep timbre of his voice, but it never happens.

"Nothing from Sam yet?" Santana asks sympathetically as I slide into the vacant seat next to her, empty-handed and devoid of food.

"No," I sigh, and then the thoughts occur. "What if something happened to him and his family? What if the bad guys got to him, and he still needs time and—"

I'm starting to hyperventilate as unwarranted images flash before me in speckled, nauseating montages.

"Quinn, calm down and breathe," my best friend coaches, rubbing soothing circles on my quivering back. "Take it easy. He's probably busy, you know—"

"Hey," Puck appears from out of nowhere and plops down on the opposite side of the table. "You okay?"

"He hasn't called, Puckerman," I blurt out, swallowing the huge lump lodged in my throat. "What if something happened to him?"

Oh, God, I'm on the verge of a meltdown in the middle of the cafeteria during lunch period, and that's not good.

"Chill, girl, he's okay," he reassures, his dark eyes trying to convey something important. "He always is."

For some reason, I believe him.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

There's a letter waiting for me on the kitchen counter, and immediately I tear it open to read.

_Don't worry about me, Quinn. I'm fine.  
__I love you.  
__- Sam._

A solitary tear trickles down my cheek and onto the piece of paper, smudging the ink, and releasing a fresh floodgate of emotions spiraling in my body.

"Sam…"

* * *

I hold on to his promise as days drag on to weeks, and before I know it, three months have passed, and there's still no news of Sam. It's a cold autumn day, and the wind is starting to pick up as I wrap my coat closer to my body, walking alongside Santana as we climb the short stairs through the main door and into the welcoming warmth in the hallway. Students mill around, dreading to hear the first bell ring.

"Seriously, though, if he makes one more inappropriate comment about my vagina, I'm going to personally see to it that he doesn't live to experience his first father's day," Santana rambles on about her newest perverted encounter of the adolescent hormones.

"Don't you usually thrive on these things?" I snicker. "I didn't hear you complain the last time—"

I halt in my tracks.

The crowd parts in a movie-worthy slow-mo, and there he is.

Standing by my locker in all his glory.

That shaggy blonde hair, now longer and tucked behind his ear.

Those full, kissable lips.

And then there are those eyes—green and piercing—as they penetrate into my soul.

"Sam…"

Am I imagining things?

I blink, but he's still standing there, patiently waiting to receive me. His smile—that boyish lopsided grin—brings a fluttering in my heart, and then I'm running, as though my life depends on it. Somehow or another, I think it does.

He catches me halfway, furiously embracing me in his arms.

"Oh, my, God," I whisper into his soft, cotton shirt, inhaling his musky scent. "You're here. You're really here."

"I miss you so much," he hums in my ears, his warmth seeping through my layers of thick clothing, eliminating what remnants of chill still lingering on my skin. "Quinn…"

Everything else fades away in the background, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the bell go off, but I don't care about that. In this moment, nothing else exists in my world but the man wrapped tightly in my hold, and there's absolutely no way in hell I'm letting him go.

* * *

"So everything is settled, then?"

He shrugs his shoulders, his bare torso shiny with our recent activities, and I just wish that our reunion hadn't been at a desolated park in the backseat of his grandfather's car, but I didn't think I could've waited any longer to have him, and I suppose, neither did he.

"Not quite," he quietly admits.

My forehead creases in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I came back because I needed to know that you're safe."

I turn my body to face him completely. "Me? Why?" The logic is lost to me because I'm not the one who's in danger.

"They found me in Lima," he explains stiffly, staring straight ahead at the dashboard. "Told me that if I didn't pay up, they'll hurt you."

Or maybe I am.

"I called Puck everyday to check up on you."

"But I'm okay," I insist, gesturing down my wound-free naked form.

He shakes his head solemnly. "I had to be sure."

"So what's going to happen now?"

"I need to go to them before they can come back to me because if they do, then they'll want more than just my money." Sam pauses to stare into my face. "And I can't afford to allow anything to happen to you, Q."

My blood runs cold as the reality of his words sink in.

"Sam, we need to call the cops. This is serious, alright?" I exclaim, fully alarmed right now. "It's too dangerous. Who knows what will happen? You can get yourself killed!"

"Informing the authorities won't work," he hisses. "It'll just make things worse. They have people on the inside helping them, and I'm not even much of a priority. I'm just going over to give them the money that my bastard of a father owes them and leave. Nobody does anything stupid, then nobody gets hurt."

"You're crazy!"

"I'm just trying to protect you, Quinn."

I'm on the brink of hysteria; unable to accept whatever he's throwing at me.

"And when you die, who's going to protect me then, huh? Who, Sam?"

"Trust me, you'll probably be safer if I'm gone."

* * *

Santana corners me out of the blue right before lunch period as I'm walking towards the cafeteria. She sinks her claws into my bicep, looking uncharacteristically frazzled, tugging me in the opposite direction instead.

"We need to leave. Now."

"What? Why?" I ask, nervously glancing over my shoulders, and wondering if there are teachers watching as we exit the main door. Playing hooky is so unlike me in many ways than one—I'm an exemplary student—and I'll probably be slaughtered by my mom before I end up in detention—or worse, the principal's office. Very much a routine juvenile, my best friend obviously doesn't see this as a problem or a hindrance, but she has yet to answer my question. "Santana, what are you doing? Where are you taking me?"

She refuses to answer me until I'm digging my heels into the ground, giving her arm a sharp yank.

"What the hell is going on, San?"

"It's Puck," she curtly replies. "He's with Sam right now. They're going to the warehouse."

I'm legitimately confused. "What warehouse?"

"Quinn—"

"Seriously, Santana, what warehouse?" I demand, the befuddlement gone, instantly replaced by a spine-chilling wave of fear. "San, if you know something that I don't, you better tell me now."

"Get in the car, Q."

"But I—"

"Get in. Now."

* * *

Santana speeds off at neck-breaking speed, zooming in and out of traffic like some racecar driver, and I don't know what I'm more afraid of—surrendering my life in her hands or inadvertently endangering our lives diving into this—whatever this is. The strap of the seat belt is digging into my chest, the buildings and cars outside looking like a blur as they pass by.

Oh, God, we're going to die, I just know it.

All of a sudden, she slams onto the breaks, the tires squealing as the car jerks to a halt, and up ahead, the flashing of red and blue lights catches my attention. There are police cars—about twenty of them—and officers roaming about in front of a dull building. The warehouse itself is nothing short of a stereotypical location for criminal activity—dark, dodgy and imposing—and then I notice the menacing-looking thugs being escorted into enforcement vehicles, handcuffed and irate.

And then I see Sam sitting at the back of an ambulance, being attended to by a paramedic. Throwing the door wide open, I tear out of Santana's car and make the short sprint over.

"Sam!"

His piercing green eyes widen with shock, but he promptly jumps to his feet and collects me in his arms. There's a mix of desperation and relief as he gives me a tight squeeze, burrowing his nose in the crook of my neck.

"Quinn," he breathes into my ear. "It's over. It's done. I'm free. They can't hurt us anymore."

"Don't you ever, ever scare me like that again, Sam Evans, you understand?"

He chuckles and says nothing, but then kisses a line from my jaw to my chin till he hovers just shy of my lips.

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, Quinn?"

I grin despite the situation—as we're waiting in the doctor's office for said doctor to return with the test results, and Sam's freshly stitched wound below his jaw—and he turns to me with a slightly dazed look, his eyes glazed over from the pain killers.

"We totally aced the Chemistry project."

**I'll build you up  
****Be the one to never doubt  
****I'll never doubt**

* * *

**A/N:** A quick rant: WTF is RIB trying to do with the whole Sam/Blaine thing? That's uncalled for, and I'm not homophobic or anything, but not all characters have to be gay or bisexual; just saying. Now, on to your amazing reviews!

**07RCA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Unfortunately, we've come to the end of the story. Hope you've enjoyed it!

**xSilverandGreenx:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I hope you've enjoyed the story, as well as the ending. No pressure on your story though. Great masterpieces take time, so please take as long as you need! Hear from you soon!

**Dosqueen67:** Hi there! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and leaving the wonderful comments! I really appreciate it! Awww! Hehe! I'm glad you liked that particular line. Smut is not always the easiest to write—depending on the situation—but I'm pleased to know that it did its job with you ;P That's such a sweet compliment; such a great honor too! I'm flattered! I'm glad you liked 'Fix You' as well! Unfortunately, all stories have to come to an end, and I hope you liked how the story played out! Cheers!

**Quams:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Your comments give me warm tingles everywhere! LOL! I'm glad you liked how the story plays out, and I definitely hope you like the ending! The smut parts are actually the most difficult to write, but I'm glad it did its intended purpose ;P Awww! Thank you for the virtual hug! Let me return one back to you! I know this update isn't earlier than you wouldn't expected, but hopefully you've enjoyed it nonetheless! Cheers!

**Mandorac:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Your comments are always so warm and I really appreciate them! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter, with all the drama, and with Santana's comic relief moments! LOL! That first scene you described was a turning point for the story, where everything sort of picks up, and of course that paves the way for some Fabrevans sexy time! I figured, with the second scene, you know, since Sam is already so mysterious and hot, the only thing left he needs, is the alpha-male aggression! LOL! Unfortunately, this is the end of the story, but of course I still have WIME and THA to work on, and perhaps another 4-parter in the making! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hiiiiiiiiii! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! LOL! I'm glad you liked it when Sam and Quinn got down and dirty! Those kind of scenes are kind of difficult for me, but fun at the same time! Unfortunately, this is the end of the story. Hope you've enjoyed it!

**s. inthehouse:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing this story! I'm glad you've enjoyed it, especially with the previous chapter! That moment when Sam went to Quinn's house, that's the turning point to their story, so hopefully that has made an impact! Unfortunately, this is the end of the story, but I hope you've enjoyed the ending! Cheers!

**SamEvans17:** Hello there! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! LOL! Well, I don't mean to make Finn such an asshole, really, but it's for the storyline, you know. Unfortunately, this is the end of the story, but I hope you've enjoyed it! Cheers!

**Helen:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've enjoyed my stories! Unfortunately, all things must come to an end, and thus so does this story. Hope you've enjoyed it!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! LOL! I'm glad you liked the tug-and-pull of Sam and Quinn's feelings and attraction for each other! I mean, cheating on your boyfriend without a guilty conscience doesn't sound like the Quinn in this story, and they are teenagers, so hormones and emotions tend to intertwine with good morals. LOL! Hope you've enjoyed the ending! Cheers!

Song used: "Build You Up" by Kim Taylor


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